The installation is composed of six hanging flat-panel screens encircling a handful of wooden benches. At first glance, the images on the display panels appear to be still photographs: portraits of inmates and guards in the U.S. correctional system, dressed either in their guard uniforms, their prison blues, denim and blue-armed baseball shirts, or white T-shirts and sweatpants. Some of the people appear to be kitchen workers or office clerks, some appear to be prison officials. It's hard to tell who they are in some cases, because there are no words to identify them and they don't speak.

After a few minutes of watching the panels, it becomes clear that these are not photographs but video images, in which the subject has been asked to stand as still as possible for about one minute at a time. But no one is able to stay perfectly still; their eyes blink, their fingers twitch, their bodies sway back and forth just a little, their chests rise and fall. Some of them purse their lips; some glare at the camera defiantly; some attempt to look tough and fail to hold the posture after a few seconds; some look completely carved out and blank, some allow their lips to curl in a forbidden smile. Those who do not have their arms behind their backs can't seem to figure out what to do with their hands.

These attempts to hold still, to be inexpressive, to just be in front of the camera, convey a potent sense of humanity--the vague sense of unease every human has when he or she attempts to look the world in the eye.

[hat tip to Rev. Mr.George W. Brooks, J.D., Director of Advocacy
Kolbe House, Chicago]